ACROSSover
by horatia1984
Summary: Doctor WhoExcel Saga cross. When the Master teams up with ACROSS, hoping to learn the secret of Hyatt's infinite regenerations, the hapless takeover mission becomes more than Kabapu's Security Team can deal with. And where are the Doctor4 & Romana2?
1. Part 1: Nice to Meet You! Rest in Peace?

ACROSSover--by horatia1984

NOTE on CONTINUITY: This story takes place (Doctor Who) between _Destiny of the Daleks_ and _City of Death_, and (Excel Saga) between... well, I haven't really decided yet.

Doctor: #4

Romana: #2

Master: #2

Hyatt: #???

Part One: "Nice to Meet You--Rest In Peace??"

It started out as a typical day--but then, this sort of thing always does. It's actually quite remarkable, if you think about it, how exceptionally rare it is for a day to be freaky, weird, hideously abnormal or just plain whacked-out _before_ a big honking hole is ripped in the fabric of space-time and an alien spacecraft materializes on the side of the road. There is no evidence to suggest that a big honking hole in the fabric of space-time and/or an alien spacecraft would be any less impactful on life as we know it if it were to open on an atypical day instead of a typical one, and the law of averages would rather tend to indicate that there should be at least a smattering of atypical days in there somewhere, but _no._ Somehow it's always happening on a _typical_ day.

And that's exactly what it was in a certain city in a certain prefecture somewhere in Japan--a typical day. Until the typical-ness was shattered by a grinding, wheezing noise and a large object materialized on the sidewalk. For a nanosecond, not even long enough for the human eye to register, it resembled a large marble column, then immediately it metamorphosed into a vending machine. Soon afterward, had anyone really been paying attention, they would have witnessed the fairly _atypical_ sight of the vending machine opening, apparently of its own volition, and a middle aged man stepping out of it, then closing the cover behind him.

This was not your typical Japanese businessman. For one thing, he wasn't Japanese. For another thing, a more interesting thing, he wasn't human. And for yet another thing, perhaps most interesting of all, to everyone hurrying about on the streets around him, he looked exactly like a typical Japanese businessman.

He was a Time Lord, and like most Time Lords he had an impressively long name, but being an evil renegade and not having much use for their society, he preferred to be called the Master. One thing he was a particularly accomplished Master of was disguise. The hypnotic powers characteristic of Time Lords made this possible in a general sense without the use of costumes. Instead of a completely black outfit with sleeves that poofed at the shoulders which positively screamed Classical Villain and a face that would have been described by someone who didn't know any better as European, any passersby (if later asked, which was hardly likely) would have reported seeing an ordinary Japanese face and a drab but not unusual suit and tie.

The Master had not been on the sidewalk more than five seconds before a pale, thin girl in pink scrubs bumped into him, murmured "Oh, dear, excuse me," and dropped dead. This event left the Master somewhat at a loss. It was quite common for humans (or any other indigenous life-forms) to drop dead soon after his arrival on any given planet, true, and Earth was certainly no exception, but it was rare indeed for it to happen when he was not directly responsible. Being beaten to an apparent murder of opportunity was a shock he was not entirely prepared for.

In an action that would have been interpreted by humans who didn't know any better as one of concern, he stooped to check her pulse, just to be certain that what he thought had just happened had in fact occurred. There was nothing to feel; the girl was quite dead.

The Master straightened and stood for a moment, wondering what to do. Instinct and common sense, of course, suggested to him that he should forget about the dead girl on the sidewalk and do what he came to this backwater planet to do: namely, take the scanner out of his pocket and search for his archnemesis's TARDIS before said archnemesis had a chance to make another in what was beginning to seem like an interminable series of space-time jumps. But an immediate death for which he was not directly responsible was so unusual that it instantly attained an almost irresistible hold on his curiosity. The operative word was "almost," naturally, and he might have been able to break free of it had it not been for a sudden clatter of footsteps and the appearance of a second young girl, this one more robust-looking and certainly louder.

Her hair was dyed a peculiar shade of yellowy orange and pulled back into a fat braid except for two small sections that hung like overlong sideburns on either side of her face. She, too, was dressed in scrubs--aqua ones--although the ID clipped to her chest that read "MAINTENANCE" suggested something less than medical and she smelled rather unpleasantly of cheap bathroom disinfectant and old mops.

"HACHAN!" shrieked the new arrival, apparently addressing this salutation (or expletive, the Master couldn't tell which from the context) to the dead girl on the sidewalk. "We don't have time for your whole passing-out routine right now! Lord Ilpal--I mean, the Boss is expecting us in twenty minutes, and if we're late, he's going to do what he always does and I do _NOT_ feel like a swim today! Get your Chief Inspecting ass off the ground and let's go-GO-_GO!!"_

Naturally there was no response from the corpse.

The girl came to a stop directly in front of the body. "_HACHAN!"_ she whined, more insistently.

The Master stared for a moment in disbelief at the revelation that _anyone_, even a human, could be that compeletely dense. He decided that if he was ever going to get this whole girl-dropping-dead business over with, he would have to pass the responsibility for disposing of the body to someone else. Of course, he could always shrink the body into a convenient doll-sized version in the peculiar manner that had become his trademark, but now that this oaf had blundered upon the scene, that would mean killing her as well and frankly he didn't feel like wasting the energy. He had an archnemesis to pursue, and while he was an extremely patient man, he would still rather not have to start the search all over again if he could avoid it.

So, a tranfer of responsibiity for the situation it was--and since this bimbo apparently knew the cadaver, she was unfortunately the best candidate for that particular role. This necessitated a statement of the painfully obvious.

"This--girl--is--dead," he said, loudly and quite a bit slower than normal, since the dead girl's companion was obviously extremely simple-minded.

The yellowy-orange-haired maintenance girl smiled and waved a hand dismissively in his direction. "Oh, it's okay, Mister," she said. "She does that." She looked down at the body. _"Hachan!"_ she whined. "Seriously!"

The Master began to wonder if he was going to have to use serious hypnosis on the idiot to convince her. Watching her nudge the body impatiently with one foot, he was very nearly resigned to doing so.

Then the corpse sat up and said, "Oh, dear--I'm sorry, Senior. Was I dead for very long?"

End of Part One.


	2. Part 2: The Master, Your Servant

ACROSSover, by horatia1984

Disclaimer:

"I, Koushi Rikudou, do not give my permission for _Excel Saga_ to be made into a _Doctor Who_ crossover!"

NOTES on CONTINUITY: This story takes place between (_Doctor Who_) _Destiny of the Daleks_ and _City of Death_, and (_Excel Saga_) immediately after the introduction of Ropponmatsu II.

Doctor: #4

Romana: #2

K-9: #2

Master: #1 (Or #13, depending on how you look at it...) in other words, the Delgado-Master.

Ropponmatsu: #2

Hyatt: #???

Part Two: "The Master, Your Servant"

One of the advantages of having two hearts instead of one is that certain things--the sudden revivification of a body that has been dead for several minutes, for example--while still delivering quite a shock to the cardiovascular system, are not likely to overload the whole lot. So it was that the Master reacted with only a slight start when the dead girl on the sidewalk sat up and began talking to her companion as if she'd merely tripped and fallen instead of suffering a myocardial infarction.

It wasn't as if the Master had never seen someone die only to revive moments later. As a Time Lord, he'd done it himself the full dozen times. He also knew that some silicon-based life-forms were capable of reconstituting themselves with massive doses of radiation. This regeneration had come as a particular surprise because as far as he knew--as far as anyone knew, for that matter--regardless of what species was concerned, regeneration was invariably coupled with a significant change in appearance. And yet, somehow, not so much as a wavy blue hair was altered on the former cadaver.

Fascinating.

The Master turned to the second girl, who was in the process of hauling her undead companion to her feet.

"You say she does this often?" he inquired sharply. "How often?"

"Oh, all the time," said the maintenance girl. "It's kind of a pain in the ass, really. You never know when she's just going to keel over on you."

"I'm sorry, Senior," murmured her companion.

"Oh, it's all right, Hachan," said the maintenance girl, rather too magnanimously to be convincing.

"How many times?" the Master persisted. This was quickly developing a deep personal interest for him. On his thirteenth incarnation, he was out of regenerations. The Time Lord he had most recently been chasing across time and space, on the other hand, was only on his fourth. It would, therefore, be in the Master's best interest to have the proverbial ace up his sleeve when he finally caught up with his arch-nemesis. The Master had not been willing to break off his pursuit of the Doctor for a random dead body, but if this girl held some secret that would allow him even one more regeneration, _that_ would be time well-spent.

"Twelve times?" he prompted when he did not get an immediate response. "More than twelve?"

He hoped it was the latter. It was always possible--disappointing, but possible--that girl might be another Time Lord. Some possessed enough control to tailor their new bodies to their liking, and if she'd become attached to that particular form... it was unorthodox, but who knew? Perhaps it had never been done only because it had never been tried. Perhaps taking on a completely new appearance was mere tradition, not necessity. One of the things that annoyed him most about his own race was that they could never distinguish between the two.

As he was weighing the possibilities, the maintenance girl was staring at him blankly. "Huh?" she said.

"I said, how many _times?"_ the Master snapped. "I realize it may be difficult for you to count to twelve without taking off your shoes, but please make an effort!"

"I think I might have just been insulted," the maintenance girl noted aloud. "And why do I feel compelled to answer his questions? Oh, well." She looked up at something in the sky which the Master suspected only she could see. "Oh Lord Il Palazzo, your Excel is coming to you! I just have to finish talking to the strange man who is now fixing me with a murderous stare!"

She then spouted a series of equations including several abstract formulae that could not possibly aid have aided her in calculating the number of times this "Hachan" had spontaneously expired and revived. (Einstein's theory of relativity was not applicable in even the most roundabout and trans-dimensional of ways, to say nothing of the formula for deriving the square root of an isocoles triangle.) All the while she ticked through the fingers of her left hand over and over. Finally, somehow, she arrived at the number twenty-six.

"That's all the way, of course," she added. "It's more like forty if you count the times when she's just gone into respiratory arrest. Since I've known her, anyway."

As if on cue, "Hachan" wobbled and started to tip sideways. The Master decided to take the opportunity to see for himself whether this girl was a Time Lord or not. He didn't trust the loud maintenance girl's powers of perception and recollection, much less arithmetic. He caught "Hachan" by the wrist and set her upright again. She didn't have the peculiar pulse of someone with two hearts, and from what he could tell the one she had was still having difficulty getting over her most recent "fit."

So she did have some extraordinary secret, then. In that case it was best to let them go and follow from a distance. No further information could be gained from total hypnosis in the maintenance girl's case; he got the distinct feeling that she was the type who frequently re-wrote her memory, and hypnotising people like that was usually more trouble than it was worth. As for "Hachan," he wasn't sure of her psychic fortitude, and he didn't want to risk damaging a potential asset by messing about with her mind so soon after she had regenerated. He knew from experience that regeneration tended to scramble one's brain a bit at first. Jumping in there now would just give him a headache.

He stepped aside so that he was no longer blocking their path. "Have a nice day," he said aloud. "Forget you ever saw me," he added psychically to the maintenance girl.

The two girls walked past him. "He sure was weird," said the maintenance girl. "When we conquer the city, he should probably go into a re-education camp, just to be on the safe side." She stopped for a moment, and scratched her head. "Hachan, who was I just talking about?"

"Senior?" Hachan responded, tone broadcasting "I know nothing, but I'm good-natured enough to smile anyway."

The maintenance girl sighed and continued walking. "Never mind, Hachan. Let's just get to HQ."

The Master followed the two girls at a distance of twenty feet. "Re-education camp"? "Conquer the city"? The Master smiled, intrigued. Yes, the Doctor could wait. This was definitely worth looking into.

Meanwhile, in a crappy apartment building on the other side of the city, an overstressed, underpaid city employee by the name of Watanabe was cursing his fate, his personality, and his coworker, in that order. Why did he have to live in this building? Where _all_ of his coworkers lived? Where _Iwata_ lived, where Iwata could break into his apartment and eat all his food without asking, paying, or even leaving a note? Where that crazy girl lived, who screamed insane things at her Italian boyfriend in the middle of the night?

Where Miss Ayasugi lived, in the same apartment as the madwoman...

Why couldn't he be the sort of guy who can talk to girls? Why did he have to go all red in the face every time he so much as _looked_ at Miss Ayasugi? Why did all his attempts at courtship end with him wanting to crawl into a hole and die? Why, after so many months in the same building, had he still not managed to even ask her first name? He was madly in love with the woman, and thanks to his _phenomenal_ social skills, he still only knew her as Miss Ayasugi!

Why did a jackass like Iwata and even that psychotic older brother of his have such easy confidence with women? Sure, half the time the women beat the hell out of them for the jackass things they said, but at least their conversations got that far! Watanabe would have gladly stood in a long line, for two months, in the rain, in nothing but his shorts for the chance to be slapped by Miss Ayasugi.

It occurred to Watanabe, not for the first time, that he had some serious Issues. With a capital "I."

The doorknob jiggled. Someone was trying to get in. It was probably Iwata, returning to the scene of the crime. Watanabe's hands balled into angry fists.

_"There's no more food, asshole!" _he yelled across the room, not moving from where he sat in the window. "You ate it all, understand?! All of it! All gone! No more!"

"Watanabe-kun, it's me!" a female voice shouted back. "And I'm alone, so open the damn door!"

Watanabe sighed in relief and climbed down from his perch. (He always sat in the window to brood.) He crossed the room, turned the lock on the doorknob and undid the three chain-locks he'd installed hoping to keep Iwata away from his supply of perishables. Now he wondered why he'd bothered. Trying to keep the younger Iwata brother from mooching was like trying to keep the older one from feeling up his female patients--it could only be accomplished with a five-iron to the noggin.

He opened the door. "Hi, Matsuya," he said to the tall redhead on the other side of the door jamb. "Sorry, I thought you were that jackass Iwa--"

"I kind of figured that," Misaki Matsuya cut him off dryly. "Let me guess: he raided your fridge again. Look, why don't you just kick his ass once or twice? It works for me. I can't remember the last time I caught him in _my_ kitchen--except when he's peeping through the window."

Watanabe shook his head. "He's got a crush on you, not me. No matter how many times _I_ hit him, he comes back and does it again. If I didn't have such a strong sense of decency, believe me when I say I'd knock him out cold and turn him over to a certain psychotic medical professional he's related to."

Matsuya gave him a sardonic half-grin. "Well, prepare to have your sense of decency strained even further. Doctor Kabapu just called us in. Iwata and Sumiyoshi have already left. I tried to call you, but I kept getting a busy signal, so I figured you'd taken your phone off the hook and were brooding in the window again. You'd better grab your uniform and come with me."

"Of all the..." Watanabe turned and went to fetch the ridiculous Security uniform he was compelled to wear at work, swearing all the way there and back. He closed the door behind him as he left the apartment. "I don't know why I bother locking it," he muttered, turning the key. "If an idiot like Iwata can break in, it'd be a piece of cake for a professional. Cheap low-grade P.O.S."

Matsuya nodded. "Yeah, but what else can you expect? You get what you pay for."

"I guess that's true," Watanabe said as they entered the parking lot. "By the way, Matsuya, where's your uniform?"

"Underneath this," she replied, contemptuously flicking the sleeve of the jogging suit she wore. "I'm not going to be caught dead in that ridiculous blue-spandex fashion nightmare unless I'm on the clock. And I'm not on the clock yet."

She got into her car and slammed the door. Watanabe followed suit.

Given that the girls were wearing scrubs, the Master had been expecting "HQ" to be a hospital or laboratory, or at the very least some sort of government-run scientific institution. When the two wandered into a construction site and climbed down an open manhole, he realized that he was going to have to adjust his expectations somewhat. And take note of the location of the nearest dry cleaners.

He waited several minutes before climbing down the manhole himself. Happily, it was no trouble to locate the girls again once inside the underground tunnels. The maintenance girl was singing at the top of her voice, a largely unintelligible, atonal melody which seemed to be composed mainly of the words "Il Palazzo," "love," "conquest," and "across." None of which made any sense to the Master. Still, she was singing so loudly that he no longer needed to be concerned about the sound his boots made in the concrete tunnel. Her voice was more than enough to drown out his footsteps.

It was difficult to remember when or even if he'd had such an easy time following someone in secret.

The Master followed Hachan and the maintenance girl round several corners, and finally through what seemed to be a hidden sliding door. On the other side was not another stretch of sewer main but instead what appeared to be an enormous audience chamber. At the opposite end of the room, a white-haired, caped figure sat on an elaborate throne. The presence of another entity made the Master cautious once more, and he kept to the shadows as he entered the room, which was not too difficult since most of the light seemed to be focused on the throne.

The maintenance girl skipped across the room, Hachan wobbling along after her, to come to a stop in front of the throne. She clapped one hand to her chest and sent the other stabbing into the air in a salute that would have been sinister, particularly on this planet, if carried out by a severe-looking individual in dark military garb--but since it was her, it mostly reminded one of a kindergartener desperate for permission to go to the bathroom.

"Hail, Il Palazzo!" crowed the maintenance girl. Hachan echoed her words in a feeble, unsteady voice.

"Excel," said the figure seated on the throne. It was a distinctly male voice. Judging from the armor--particularly the enormous spiked shoulder guards--the robes, and the curious chevron headpiece, it was entirely possible that this gradiose being was an alien. From what planet, it was impossible to tell; a surprising number of planets featured humanoid life-forms. "You are five minutes late. Would you care to explain your tardiness?"

"Well, Lord Il Palazzo, we were on our way when Hyatt died again. And... I have this feeling there was something else, but I can't remember--"

Lord Il Palazzo looked beyond the maintenance girl at the Master. "Would I be wrong to conclude that it has something to do with the man in black who is keeping so conscientiously out of the light?"

The maintenance girl cocked her head to one side. "Man in black...? Oh! Men in black! Common conspiracy theory among the ignorant masses! Posits that men dressed in black suits are employed to enforce the secret will of the government for nefarious or at least top-secret purposes! Rumors unsubstantiated by ACROSS personnel--namely Hyatt and myself--although entirely possible if you think about all the attempts at sabotage we've encount---"

"Excel." Lord Il Palazzo gestured with an index finger in the Master's general direction. "Turn around."

"Excel"--apparently it was the maintenance girl's name, not a greeting or a command, though it seemed to the Master something of a misnomer--whipped around, let out a squawk of surprise, then recovered and said:

"Oh, _that_ man in black! He's, er--he's--um--"

The girl looked from the Master to Lord Il Palazzo and back in obvious distress. Once, in a moment of supreme panic, she even glanced over at Hachan, but received only a smile of clueless encouragement from her partner.

"He's--um--" Excel sputtered again, still trying to put something together.

The Master, meanwhile, was once more weighing his options. The fact that Lord Il Palazzo had seen him--or, rather, was _aware_ that he had seen him--supported his suspicion that this was an alien; it suggested the presence of some degree of telepathy, or at least a much stronger mind and will than the Master commonly encountered. The bottom line was that, despite an impressive array of might-be conclusions forming in his mind, he had no real idea of this Lord Il Palazzo's capabilities.

So, the Master stepped into the light, and said what he always said when he was unsure of his position:

"I am called the Master--and I am your obedient servant."

Some level of hesitancy on the part of whomever he addressed this statement to was to be expected. The Master was used to demands for proof of his loyalty being made more or less immediately after the statement was issued. Such demands were usually easily met, and without significant risk on his part, so the Master was not worried at the prospect. Lord Il Palazzo, however, showed no hesitation and made no demands.

He simply started laughing.

End of Part Two.

Author's Note: Thanks to Russell1, who reminded me I needed the disclaimer. There was some brief panic on this end over the continuity while I was writing this segment--as I found myself in New Braunfels on holiday without my notes--but now that I have returned home to the Land of the Internet, we're all checked out and everybody is in their proper incarnations for their respective timelines. If all continues to go well, Part Three will be up in short order.


	3. Part 3: Good Help is Hard to Find

_ACROSSover,_ by horatia1984

Disclaimer:

"I, Koshi Rikdo, do not give my permission for _Excel Saga_ to be made into a _Doctor Who_ crossover!"

NOTES on CONTINUITY: This fic takes place between (_Doctor Who_) _Destiny of the Daleks_ and _City of Death_, and _(Excel Saga)_ immediately after the introduction of Ropponmatsu II.

Doctor: #4

Romana: #2

K-9: #2

Master: #1 (Or #13, depending on how you look at it...) In other words, the Delgado-Master.

Ropponmatsu: #2

Hyatt: #???

Part Three: "Good Help is Hard to Find"

For several minutes the Master stood very still while Lord Il Palazzo indulged in a long and more than slightly ominous bout of laughter. A less experienced villain might have made the mistake of assuming that he'd said something terribly clever and amusing (or at least worked his way into his host's favor) and joined in, but the Master had not lived twelve and a half lifetimes without learning one or two things about the habits of other members of his profession. He knew that this was one of he most dangerous stages of any potential encounter with another evil genius. It is stupid to laugh if you don't actually know what the joke is anyway, but if you do it in front of a powerful stranger, you are as likely to get executed as in impudent intruder as you are to get welcomed as a brother-in-arms. It was critical, therefore, that the Master reserve all reaction until Il Palazzo fully recovered from whatever acute hilarity had set this off.

That moment came soon enough. Lord Il Palazzo stopped laughing as suddenly as he had started. Smiling, he delicately pushed the gold pince-nez he wore a fraction of an inch further up the bridge of his nose with one finger.

"A servant called the Master?" he inquired, making no effort to disguise the amused incredulity in his voice. "Come, now, sir--that line might work on robots who have no concept of irony and maniacs too mired in their own psychoses to notice, but I, Lord Il Palazzo, am the supreme commander of ACROSS. I am a well-read and cultured intellectual. The basic contradiction in your statement is not likely to escape _me._ I do not yet regard you as an enemy, so please tell me who you really are and why you have really come here before you lose all opportunity to influence my opinion."

The Master smiled. Well, at least he had established that this was indeed a stronger mind and will than he usually encountered. It was still too early to reveal the extent of his interest in Hachan and her regenerative capabilities, but this _was _an ideal moment to ensure that he would be able to continue close observation of the girl until the time was right.

"Very well," he said, spreading his hands in the universal all-right-you-got-me gesture. "What I have said is not entirely untrue. I am, in fact, called the Master, and I do wish to aid you in your conquest of this city--though, as you say, my ambitions go quite a bit beyond the more menial tasks involved in such an operation."

Il Palazzo's gaze became a bit less intensely scrutinizing at this, and the Master sensed that the tenor of the interview had just undergone an almost complete reversal, though he was still in the dark as to why.

"You are responding to the ad, then?" Lord Il Palazzo said, sounding pleased. "This is good. Thus far Hyatt has been the only addition to my staff since placing it. It's been a disappointing turnout, I must say. Although I suppose Excel is to be commended for continuing to run it all this time."

Excel pirouetted joyfully, let loose with a few high kicks, and began jumping up and down. "Praise from the lips of my beloved master, Lord Il Palazzo, fills the heart of this unworthy Excel with joy-_joy-JOY!"_ she shrieked. "Lord Il Palazzo is too kind and wonderful for words! His greatness defies expression by human tongues!"

"Yes, yes, I know," Lord Il Palazzo said to his hyperactive subordinate, sounding immensely bored. The Master wondered how often Il Palazzo had to sit through these outbursts--and, more than that, how he had managed to do so for however-long-it-had-been without shooting the obnoxious creature. "I think, Excel, that in recognition of your success in recruiting another member to our august organization, I will forego the usual penalty for failing to appear where and when I tell you."

"Lord Il Palazzo is merciful and beneficent, and many other complimentary adjectives appropriate to this situation which the undeserving Excel can neither remember nor spell! He is mighty and thoughtful and wise and--"

Lord Il Palazzo's right hand twitched slightly as if it wished to gain at least temporary independence from its owner's will and reach for something. "Excel," he said, "shut up."

"Yes, sir, Lord Il Palazzo! Your faithful Excel is shutting up right this inst--eep!" She clamped both hands over her mouth as Lord Il Palazzo's fingers began to rise from the arm of the throne. The movement ceased with the noise. Excel seemed to relax. Her hands, however, remained over her mouth.

Lord Il Palazzo turned his attention back to the Master. "Now, my new recruit, shall we get on to business?"

"Of course."

Lord Il Palazzo folded his hands and regarded the Master, head tilted slightly to one side. "Tell me, Master--just how far _do_ your ambitions extend?"

Lord Il Palazzo was evidently hiring and clearly in bad need of competent staff, so the Master saw no harm in making the most of it. "A consulting position at the very least," he said. "And at the most... I think a full partnership would do quite nicely."

"I see. Your candor is most refreshing, Master, in this modern and corporate-dominated world which has become so overrun with yes-men. Therefore, I shall return the gesture: I confess, my own ambitions extend rather beyond what _I_ have yet revealed to _you._"

"Oh?"

"Indeed. I thought it best not to reveal the full scope of ACROSS's mission in the ad. Conquest of the city is our primary objective at the moment, true--but it is not our ultimate goal. This city will be only the first step. When ACROSS has fulfilled its destiny, we shall have conquered the world!"

"It's not like there's some secret organization hiding out in the city, plotting to conquer the world," Watanabe complained, not unreasonably (or so he thought), as he got out of Matsuya's car. "If you want the God's honest truth, I think Dr. Kabapu's delusional. All that 007 hard-core paramilitary training, the unstable experimental firearms, the spandex for god's sake... he's got to have a screw loose."

Matsuya looked thoughtful. "You think that ridiculous wooly hair of his grows inside his skull as well as outside?" She tapped one finger against her chin. "Maybe it's a solid mass that goes all the way through from one side of his head to the other. You know, like the bolt in Frankenstein's neck." She chuckled. "Ha! Maybe that's what holds his head on!"

Frankenstein? Watanabe was suddenly assaulted with a bizarre vision of their boss zapping himself with a few thousand volts, hair that had hung limp from his ears like Spanish moss crackling and shooting out to its usual, impossible 180-degree angle while a hunchbacked Momochi limped in circles around him, squealing "Master! It's alive! _ALIVE!"_

Watanabe nearly had a stroke trying to surpress a burst of hysterical laughter as he and Matsuya crowded into the elevator with a half dozen other city employees who would have thrown them both out and stormed their office if they had had any idea how their tax dollars were being spent.

"The problem with world domination," Lord Il Palazzo was explaining, "is that most attempts at accomplishing it are ultimately all-or-nothing gambles. I, for one, refuse to accept failure, so naturally any plan in which failure has a fifty percent probability must also be deemed unacceptable. By definition, this rules out all the standard schemes for taking over the world in one go. That is why I have decided to make my conquest gradual and systematic. The city will be first, then the prefecture, then the country, the hemisphere, and so forth. The extended timeframe sounds daunting, I know, but it does have its benefits. It allows for a certain 'learning curve,' administratively speaking. The smaller challenges in taking over a single city will prepare us for the greater challenges we will face as our sphere of influence widens."

"I'm pleased to hear you're taking such a practical approach," said the Master.

"There are those who might accuse us of timidity, of course, but it is the purest nonsense."

"Placing an employment advert was bold enough," the Master pointed out in a carefully mild tone. That was the one thing that bothered him about all this. Il Palazzo's logic was sound enough, and he seemed a pragmatic sort of fellow... but to place a "Help Wanted" ad to conquer a city? That suggested a recklessness and a disconnect with reality that would inevitably lead to failure.

Lord Il Palazzo smiled. "No doubt you question the wisdom of such an action. I hesitated myself, at first. Then I realized that I was giving the people too much credit. The truth is that modern man has locked himself so firmly into his own prejudices and false perceptions of the world that complex concepts that fall outside of that narrow view pass him by, completely unnoticed. I realized that, far from being cause for suspicion, an ad for employment in the conquest of the city would be taken as a joke by the ignorant masses. What would at first seem an act of supreme carelessness became an act of supreme efficiency: the ignorant masses laugh it off, and I receive only serious applicants, like Hyatt and yourself."

The argument made a surprising amount of sense. It was ingenious, so much so that the Master wondered briefly why it had never occurred to him. He decided it was probably because Il Palazzo had made a more detailed study of late twentieth century Earth society than he had. Besides, sheer ingenuity aside, that sort of approach didn't suit his usual M.O. When he had sought assistance in takeovers past, the entities he had partnered with had never been the sort to read the Employment papers, much less answer ads placed in them. He wasn't that sort himself, though he had obviously better not reveal that to his new ally.

Lord Il Palazzo chuckled, obviously sensing that a lightbulb had come on in his recruit's head. "It has an amusing irony to it, does it not?"

"Oh, quite. It never would have occurred to me." The Master smiled back. "I like the way your mind works. I think it will be a very great pleasure to work with you."

"I certainly hope so. Now, you speak as though you have some experience in these matters...?"

"Oh, several lifetimes' worth," the Master assured him.

"And I sense you mean that literally. Interesting... Excel!"

"Mmn mph mmflpmfl!" Excel responded from behind her hands, which she had evidently forgotten were still clamped over her mouth. She lowered them at once. "I mean: Yes, sir, Lord Il Palazzo!"

"Go and fetch a chair for your new superior."

"Yes, sir! I go to do your bidding with a song on my lips and tons of gooey mushy love in my-- W-Wait a minute!" Excel paused mid-pirouette before completing the 360-degree spin to face Il Palazzo once more. "L-Lord Il Palazzo, what do you mean?"

Il Palazzo smiled patiently. "What part of my order confused you, Excel?"

"The... the part about a new superior, my lord!"

Lord Il Palazzo sighed. "Really, Excel, I should think that would have been obvious. There has been a reorganization of ACROSS's hierarchy, as of--" he pulled out a pocket watch and examined it "--approximately eleven minutes ago. Since you were present at the time, and the applicant came to us through the ad _you_ placed, you really should have noticed. But since you didn't, I shall explain. ACROSS now consists of the following members: myself, as supreme commander; the Master as acting leftenant and--"

"Scientific advisor?" the Master suggested, smiling inwardly at his private joke. What a delightful irony, to assist in the conquest of the Doctor's favorite planet under the Doctor's own UNIT title!

"Even so. The Master as my acting leftenant and Scientific Advisor, Hyatt as Chief Inspector and combatant, Menchi as combatant, and yourself as Latrine Officer and combatant. Do you understand now?"

Excel, for some reason, looked crushed. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Now go and fetch a chair for your new superior."

"Yes, sir!" Excel spun on her heel and marched out.

"With all due respect to your... _taste_... Lord Il Palazzo," the Master remarked, watching her leave, "I think it might be quicker to train a monkey."

"I know," said Lord Il Palazzo with a slightly pained expression. "Hyatt is the more reliable of the two, and she spends a third of her time dangling her toes in the river Styx! But Excel is so loyal, and good help is so hard to find these days."

The Master had to concede that this was a good point. "You're too right about that," he agreed. "I can't tell you how many times I've forged unholy alliances only to have the help go all to pieces the moment my archnemesis got involved."

"You have an archnemesis? What a coincidence. I recently acquired one, myself. I consider it an important personal milestone, given our goal of global domination."

"Oh, it is," said the Master. "If you're not making enemies among the heroic types, you're not working hard enough."

"An admirable summation of my philosophy. You know, I get the distinct feeling that, in many ways, you and I are very much alike. Still--"

"Uh, Lord Il Palazzo?" Excel's head popped into view once more. "Excel regrets to report that all furnishings previously appropriated from the ignorant masses seem to have been washed away in the recent flood."

Lord Il Palazzo adjusted his pince-nez. "Excel, _do_ try to think on your feet once in a while," he said, exasperated. "If the minor furnishings are gone, go and fetch my old chair from the armory. It's watertight."

"B-But, my Lord, the armory is the old audience chamber."

"Your point being?"

"My Lord's chair is bolted to the floor."

"So _remove the bolts_. We have the tools. Now run along and do as I say, or I'll start to lose my patience."

Lord Il Palazzo gave his Latrine Officer a glare that clearly said _"And if that happens, you know what I'll do," _which resulted in her hasty departure, leaving the Master to speculate on exactly what the unspoken threat was.

"She really does try, you know," said the fearless leader of ACROSS, turning back to the Master. The Master wondered which of them he was trying to convince. "At any rate, returning to our interview prior to that interruption: I do not wish to appear rude, but if I might ask exactly what you are?"

"Time Lord," the Master replied. There were things one could lie about and survive if discovered later. This wasn't one of those things. Having made this disclosure, he felt it prudent to make it clear exactly where he stood--they would never admit it, but over the millenia the Time Lords had given several groups great cause for resentment, and some people reacted badly to being told they were in the company of one--and so he added: "Though I'm happy to say I've not set foot on Gallifrey since I left the Academy. A small, stuffy planet governed by small, stuffy minds."

The Master stopped just short of asking Lord Il Palazzo what planet he was from. The information wasn't vital to discovering the key to Hachan Hyatt's regenerative capabilities. It wouldn't due to pry, not at this early stage.

"Time Lord... from Gallifrey," Lord Il Palazzo murmured to himself, looking suddenly pensive. If he said anything after that, the Master didn't hear it, because all at once a shrill voice was screaming:

_"For the love of the magnificent Lord Il Palazzo! One last courageous dash toward victory! EXCELERATE!!"_

Then Excel burst through the door, holding a throne roughly three-fourths the size Il Palazzo's over her head. She charged up onto the dias in an explosion of shouted "Hup-Two!"s and planted the large piece of furniture beside Il Palazzo's throne with a crash, then leaped up to stand on the armrests, thrusting out a V-for-victory sign toward no one in particular.

"OH YEAH BABY!" the maintenance girl/footsoldier exulted. Despite the direct telepathic translation his TARDIS provided, the Master could tell she was now yelling in something other than her native language, and doing so badly.

"Excel!" Lord Il Palazzo reprimanded his hyperactive subordinate. "Stop that ridiculous display at once and return to your place! And what have I told you about succumbing to the insidious spread of Westernization?!"

"SIR!" Excel half hopped, half fell past the Master to where she had originally stood.

"Welcome back, Senior," said Hyatt, who had previously been standing mute while the Master and Lord Il Palazzo had conducted their interview, smiling politely.

_"Thanks, _Hachan," Excel growled, bending forward and attempting to massage the base of her spine. "Where the hell were you when I was lugging that thing through the secret passage, by the way?! I think I slipped a disc..."

"Oh!" said Hachan, all wide-eyed innocence. "But Senior, you are so much stronger than I am. When you did not ask for help, I assumed you did not need any."

"Please have a seat," said Lord Il Palazzo. Excel collapsed onto the tiles. "Not you, Excel."

"Thank you," said the Master, sitting down beside him. He noted with some satisfaction that the chair Excel had brought in was not only comfortable, but quite a large affair of elaborate design. It suited his tastes. That his overall aesthetic preferences were starting to become a bit dated had never affected the Master's confidence, but still felt good to see that he was not the only one left of the opinion that the clothes (and the lair) make the man. It had been a long time since he had worked with another old school villain. Lord Il Palazzo was right; they had a great deal in common, particularly where style was concerned.

"Are there any questions I can answer for you, before we begin discussing ACROSS's current operations?"

"Just one," said the Master. "What is that rope hanging by your head?"

Lord Il Palazzo smiled. "Ah, you noticed. It is a simple but effective staff management tool. You have noticed that Excel's enthusiasm can get... out of hand."

"Uh-oh," said Excel, who had become stuck somewhere between kneeling and standing up, one hand still braced on the small of her back.

"I confess I was wondering how you put up with it."

"Observe." Lord Il Palazzo reached up and pulled on the rope.

The tile Excel was standing on gave way, and she fell immediately down a shaft that was (judging by the duration of the "I can't swiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiim!" prior to splashdown) a good many yards in length. The Master couldn't help laughing.

"Don't get hysterical, Excel," Lord Il Palazzo called down to her. "There's nothing poisonous, tentacled or electrified in the tank today. Just hold your breath and you'll float."

"Simple, but effective," the Master agreed with an approving nod. "What do you stock it with, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I try to mix it up," Lord Il Palazzo replied. "Octopus, crocodiles, squid, sting rays, jellyfish, various crustaceans. All black market stock, of course. The pickings have been a bit slim of late; all I could manage for today was starfish."

"It sounds like an expensive practice."

"It can be, but Excel is, after all, my responsibility. It's my duty as her employer and overlord to see that she gets the best."

The Master sweatdropped. It was a new experience for him, but not entirely unpleasant. All in all he found it a rather convenient way to express an emotional/intellectual reaction that could heretofore have been accurately communicated only with "Okaaaaaaaay...". And the Master _never_ said "Okaaaaaaaaaay...".

"It's been an educational experience for her," Lord Il Palazzo explained, seeing that the Master did not fully understand his last remark. "You wouldn't think it, but Excel can recite the full nomenclature of almost every creature I've put in that tank."

"Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus, Species!" Excel recited from below.

The Master looked at Lord Il Palazzo with a particularly devilish grin. "You know, I think I can broaden young Excel's horizons exponentially further," he said.

"How so?"

"A simple matter of dimensional engineering--one of my specialties, as you'll see. With a little work, I can have that pit opening onto an infinite, constantly shifting number of planets far beyond the reaches of her native galaxy. It would cut back on your expenses, too."

"Would you? How wonderful." Lord Il Palazzo smiled warmly. "Scientific Advisor Master, I do believe this could be the start of a beautiful friendship."

End Part Three.

Author's Note: ;; Okay, so that wasn't exactly "short order." But blockage happens. I'll try to do better in the future, I promise.


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